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The Green Room

Another Filthy Story

By Mister BlackPublished 5 years ago 5 min read
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She sat three rows from center stage... Faces blur from city to city, but I swear I've seen her before. A million miles on the road couldn't counter the fluster that consumes me when we lock eyes. Where is this coming from? A lifetime of brunettes and redheads, and this bleach blonde beauty is working me like a snake charmer, elevating the acoustic guitar that rests on my lap, as the blood in my body finds a throbbing home underneath my pants.

"Focus." I repeat the notion in my head, over and over. My sorry attempt at finishing a flawless set is met with reality, and I can barely contain myself. The final song begins. Is my imagination playing tricks on me again? I decide to test the waters, dimming the lights within my peripheral vision, directing all of my attention to the glisten of her lips. She licks them, and for a second, I imagine the sound of our resplendent tongues colliding. I hear applause. Caught up in the moment, my performance, now set to auto-pilot, concludes. Curtains.

I rush backstage. The cheers are silenced in my head, rejecting the possibility of an encore. I remember the long black V, her skin covered in pearls. Did she leave? I have to pack my guitar. Faster. Faster. I rush out of the Green Room expecting the worst. But she's there, three rows from center stage. I remind myself to breathe, as my feet guide me towards her. Her toes, peaking out of her shoes, showcase the whitest of nail polish; my favorite. How could she know? My hands, now in my pocket, find more than just a hiding place. I approach.

"Did you enjoy the show?" My knees buckle, as I find any excuse to take the seat beside her.

"What do you think?" she replies.

I think a lot actually. The memory of a 45 minute set begins to flash before me, and for 45 minutes, I wanted to fuck you. But I digress.

"I think the show looked a lot better from stage." I reply.

She laughs. Little did I know why. Where am I? Where is my manager? He booked this show, and I have no idea what city I'm in. She places her hand on my leg and whispers in my ear.

"My dad owns this place."

Interesting. Was this an opening, or a rejection?

"Is he here?" I replied. Her lips curve into the most devilish of smiles.

"No."

She grabs my hand, and with the worst intentions, guides me back to the Green Room, where I so desperately escaped prior. Logistics flash before me, as I remember that I, in fact, was the headlining act. She locks the door behind us. No interruptions. No expectations. Privacy.

"I haven't heard a voice as good as yours in a long time."

She traces the edges of her lace top with her fingertips. Her nipples, piercing through the fabric, long for the grip of my mouth. She lays out on the antique couch, slightly spreading her legs. I can smell the coconut oil she rubs on her skin. Candy, destined to satisfy the demon inside of me. I stay on course, and don't get ahead of myself.

"I appreciate the audience."

A knock on the door. The blood rises to my head, as fury takes over. "Who the fuck is it?" I think to myself. She kicks off her shoes, and walks towards the door. A bucket is passed off, and the iced liquor makes its grand entrance. Was this moment a product of my imagination, or hers? The vision becomes clearer.

"What would you like?" She says with an accomplished look across her gorgeous face.

"For you to sit on my face." I utter instinctively.

She giggles. The look on my face has not a hint of comedy. Her laughter, blatantly masking her loss of control, now fades. I fall to the couch as she mounts me. Her right hand, now gripping firmly on my hair, pulls back my head as she pours liquor into my mouth. My palms meet the soles of her feet, and my fingers, now interlocked with her toes, serve to pull her in closer with every spasm. A candle dimly lights the couch, and the reflection of the flame in her eyes weakens me.

The tip of my finger traces lines up and down her spine, from the back of her neck to the crack of her silky ass. She goes to whisper something in my ear, but I pull her back by her hair, now wrapped around my hand, forcing her face to the side as I suck on her neck and collar bone. I see her nipples get hard through her see through top, and use my teeth to get rid of the layer of cloth standing between me and her beautiful breasts.

My tongue and lips latch onto her nipples, as my arms wrap around her waist, pulling her in tight. I sit her down, as I kneel on the floor with her legs now wrapped around my neck, and take turns licking and sucking her clit and pussy lips, teasing her asshole with my tongue every time I feel her fingers run through my hair. I can feel her toes curling on my back, and her breasts bouncing with every shake of her body.

She screams, "I'm going to cum!"

I keep the pace until it happens. I hear the sexiest of moans, and grab her body tight, sucking the squirt out of her until she pushes me away.

She takes a minute to breathe, and laughs with excitement. We lock eyes in agreement. This was another stop on tour. Will we see each other again? Who knows. Was I just another one of her victims? Maybe. But I'll tell you one thing, I will never forget the Green Room.

erotic
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About the Creator

Mister Black

Dirty Thoughts From A Dirty Mind

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